


Manufactured Happiness

by Lunarium



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: F/F, Inspired by Music, Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 20:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19070503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: Put back together and rebooted, Cyborg Noodle contemplates the reason for her return as well as the meaning of happiness.





	Manufactured Happiness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cricket_aria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cricket_aria/gifts).



What is happiness?

Apparently, it can be bought. 

It’s advertised as a small rectangular box, not larger than a box of Band-Aids and not much thicker. The model who holds it up dramatically puts on a toothy grin as if she’s wanted nothing more than to be plastered on a massive billboard, her left eye and grin peeling to reveal snippets of the old advertisement from before. Through a thick morning fog of her creepy grin follows the commuters, most of whom ignore her or lazily glance up as they wait for the red light to change colors. 

Yet while most have merely glimpsed the billboard, she’s been studying it for a better part of the morning, committing every inch to memory. 

“Feel Good Version 2.0” are the words spread across the top, with the second “o” peeling off. “Feel God”. Some would claim the product was just that good— _It’s there_. 

The updated product is now a patch; just press it against the skin and instant happiness is achieved. Some, Noodle offhand mentions, still preferred the laughing gas method. The commercial for that one was something of a horror filk; the guy’s laughter still rattled in Cyborg Noodle’s head, but it wasn’t the strangest thing she’s encountered. 

Why did so many seek happiness from a factory? _That_ was strange. Weren’t humans happy already? Was that not an emotion already prepackaged into an organic being? She’s read children’s books before. Happy, sad, mad. Happy was a readily available emotion inside all non-mechanically designed organisms, so why pick it off the shelves? 

What _is_ happiness?

Could one find it elsewhere? Or could it be found within oneself? 

When Cyborg Noodle asked Noodle, she gave a smile which Cyborg Noodle could not begin to parse— _no meaning found within database_ —and she took Cyborg with her to a nightclub.

The other members of the band joined in. 2-D fell asleep early on, face-smashed against his plate of mashed potatoes and peas. Analysis showed he had administered too much of Feel Good Version 2.0, smoked a few joints too many, and spent the last two weeks writing and recording the next album with the band. Too much fun? Too much happiness? 

Too much stress, Russel confirmed. 

“What are they doing?” Cyborg Noodle asked after observation of the world below the dancing purple and blue lights provided no answer in her search of what happiness was. She did spot a few old-fashioned users of Feel Good, inhaling their sweet perfume through a mask; their roaring, deep, belly laughter shook the dance floor as if earthquakes were part of the show. The patches of its younger cousin gleamed under the disco lights. 

“Dancing,” Noodle replied. “They’re getting on down.” 

Cyborg Noodle’s lips stretched across her face into a deep, frustrated frown. “Why?” 

“‘Cause it raises their spirits.” Not being much help, Noodle hopped off her seat and disappeared into the crowd. The top of the familiar bob-cut could just be seen at the bar, laughing with a few patrons. 

“Why do we ‘get down’ to bring up our spirits?” 

Murdoc leaned back, and a trail of smoke issued from his wide nostrils. “I ain't givin’ the talk on the birds ’n’ bees.”

Russel slapped his bald head. 

“What do birds and bees have to do with happiness?” Cyborg Noodle asked as she rounded on Russell. The very fact that he had just performed a minor act of violence on his own person intrigued her. A side effect of Feel Good? 

“Nah, nothing like that, kid,” he said. “I’ll explain it all to you in a bit—”

“The birds?” 

“What? No! I have some books back at the studio you can sift through.”

*

She analyzed through Russel’s books: Al-Ghazali, Kant, Aristotle, Plato, Epicurus—all of whom had much to say on the subject, but none who seemed to come up with any sort of consensus on the true source of happiness, and nothing in _Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals_ mentioned the manufacturing and commercial dispensing of happiness.

“How more confusing can this get?”

*

“Why did you rebuild me?” Cyborg Noodle asked the following day.

“The bonsai tree died, and I became sad, was all alone, and needed a new friend.” Noodle shrugged as she regarded her cyborg counterpart underneath long dark bangs. 

Clasping her hands to her hips, Cyborg Noodle regarded her former nemesis. ‘Nemesis’ being a keyword here. Her clone was about ready to kill her years ago all for daring to walk around wearing her face and DNA, never mind it was all Murdoc’s doing; Cyborg Noodle had never asked to be made. When she experienced system failure, Murdoc had turned on her (a fairly common thing for him to do, she was later assured) and ordered for her execution. Noodle—the real Noodle—took her apart…only to rebuild her years later and now… _this_. 

“None of this computes.” 

“Such is the complexity of human emotions.” 

“Wait. What?” 

There was a word sitting on the tip of her tongue. “Were you lonely? And why was _I_ the cure? You could have bought Feel Good!” 

“That’s just a drug,” Noodle said. “For some, the companionship of another is the sweetest gift of all.” 

Her smile, soft and sweet, struck through Cyborg’s mind again. Search for the meaning. Couldn’t discern. 

Could not compute. This was the same woman who had put her down after she began to malfunction—cold glares, a snarl, an angry and jealous glint to her eyes— _don’t walk around with me face_. So different from the Noodle who greeted her after she rebooted back to existence—an older smile, a woman who had seen…sadness, whose lived through ordeals—painful ordeals—who was searching— _for what?_ —and wanted—needed?—something.

“You…want my companionship?”

That smile was a smile of someone who had just recently found her own happiness. Not in a bottle, not in a bandage box full of patches doused in manufactured happiness. 

Frowning again, Cyborg Noodle settled beside Noodle and studied towards the city scenery. A hand ghosted over the back of her head, but she didn’t flinch away. “I believe I’m beginning to understand. Go on. Explain to me how I make you feel, and why.”


End file.
